Admin Maintenance
by poi922
Summary: A Library Vignette…in which Finch suffers a cold, John tries being a handyman, and Bear is just bored. (Season 2)


Bear yawns mightily, ending the action in a muffled whine that draws Finch's attention. The geek shakes his head slightly, aware that beyond a quick walk in the park earlier, the dog has had nothing to do but lie on his pad and watch him type on the keyboard, leaving the animal likely bored beyond human comprehension.

"I know, Bear," he says softly. "Later. I promise I'll take you out again later. But right now I need to fix this…" The dog lifts his head, bright eyes full of anticipation, causing Finch to feel a twinge of guilt at forcing such an active animal into a state of ennui.

But he's is not at all anxious to brave the weather again, despite his promise to the dog. Even the thought makes him feel tired…

Winters in New York can be brutal, he has learned over the years. And not just because nature dispenses copious amounts of wet and cold and wind over the area. No, the worse part of winter is that every step outside the confines of this personal space exposes him to the cornucopia of germs and viruses running rampant through the horde of humanity that calls the vast city home.

And now he has the dubious distinction of having become a bona-fide member of one of the sniffling masses, complete with dues numbered in tissues and aspirin.

He reaches for another Kleenex to blot his runny nose…which has already taken on the appearance of a certain reindeer's proboscis. An incongruous joke a much younger Will once told him pops into his head: _"Uncle Harold, do you know how you can tell you're built upside down? Your feet smell and your nose runs…"_

He smiles at the memory, the boy's delighted laughter at his own childish quip still a cherished memory easily retrieved as he wipes a hand over his face, careful not to come anywhere near the tender area around his nose. If he could just shake this exhaustion...

_A cup of tea!_ That's what he needs now!

Something warm, and sweet… And maybe it will inspire him as to what is causing this constant rebooting of his equipment. He had hoped to spend no more than thirty minutes optimizing the sub-routine, and then head to his nice warm apartment with a down comforter on a comfy bed. And a hot toddy.

But these persistent glitches are making that an untenable goal. Irritating, frustrating, maddening…!

He lurches to his feet and limps painfully to the back of the chamber. The intensity of his aches and pains has always been inversely proportional to barometer pressures - and today the reading is continuing to drop, with more inclement weather in the forecast. Add that to his runny nose, an achy head and, well…Welcome to Winter Wonderland in New York!

He had put the kettle on the hot plate when first arriving with the expectation it would be boiling by now…but when he checks the pot, it's stone cold. A glance at the "on" light quickly reveals the problem: no power, though he's certain that it had glowed red when he first pushed the button. Finch groans. On top of not feeling at all well, he now has no tea! And likely a broken hot plate.

...

.

_Over a period of many years collected data has corroborated (confirmed, verified, substantiated, proven) that humans can best be described as stubborn (obstinate, tenacious, resolute, determined) often defying logic and maintaining an actionable path against all better reason (sense, judgment, instinct)._

_Admin is more intelligent than the majority of the fragile creatures, but evidently not immune to this failing. Because of that enhanced astuteness (acumen, discernment, perceptiveness) coupled with an illogical resistance to special protection, only a strategic intervention will accomplish the goal of preserving optimum health (fitness, wellbeing, vigor, strength) for this individual_.

_Operative steps have been taken for successful Admin maintenance by the most effective means._

...

.

"Are you all right, Harold?"

Finch turns stiffly. He of course had heard the sound of the gate opening but had neither the inclination nor energy to get up to investigate, leaving Bear to take care of that task. The dog had leapt from the pad at catching a familiar and beloved scent and had flung himself at the ex-op, all greeting protocols abandoned in favor of some needed activity.

The reclusive genius sighs. He'd been aware of the animal getting more antsy by the hour, cooped up in the library for most of the morning - and now the canine is ecstatic at seeing the ex-agent, thoroughly convinced that the Alpha has finally arrived to relieve him of this boredom. Finch feels even more guilty than before.

"Ah. Mr. Reese…" He begins, raising his voice as he watches his employee and dog in a friendly tussle. The man has no right to look so…so healthy in this kind of weather! "I would have thought you'd find something more pleasant to do than braving the weather to come here. I did tell you there was no Number yet, didn't I?

"Yes…yes, you did. And why is it so cold in here, Finch?" The ex-op straightens, pulling the lapels of his overcoat together to add substance to the question. He enters the main chamber with Bear bouncing beside him, the dog clearly anxious to continue their raucous game.

Finch frowns, looks momentarily confused and then, "I don't know… It seemed warm enough when I first got here..." He'd been so cold upon entering at the library he had yet to remove his winter coat and now suddenly realizes that the temperature has actually dropped inside the chamber since he'd first arrived.

"Well, Harold…breathe out. You see that vapor? That means it's cold in here…too cold!"

The older man glares at his employee, clearly not appreciating what he perceives is the latter's condescending attitude. "Well, _some_ of us have been too busy to…to…ah…choo!

Unfortunately sneezing in the middle of a sarcasm dilutes the effect so he gives up and continues on to the more important issue. "You still haven't answered my question, Mr. Reese. Why are you here?"

"You texted me.

Finch blinks.

...

.

_The first several measures (actions, procedures) have not accomplished the desired goal. The time has come to escalate (accelerate, quicken) the process and move to a more personal (close, cherished, singular) intercession._

_Now that step has been taken; the process will proceed as originally designed._

...

.

"I'm sure I didn't call you, John."

Reese doesn't answer, merely holds out the phone for his boss to see, at which point Finch blinks again, and then focuses watery eyes on the small screen.

"It only reads 'hurry'" Finch says in nasal overtones, glancing at the ex-op in confusion. "Why would you think that was a distress call from me?"

"Because it came from your number to mine, and it's very brevity made me suspect you could be in a bind…literally or figuratively." He didn't think it necessary to mention his panic as he activated the new tracker in the geek's glasses and learned that his boss was at the library and not in one of the safe houses as was his original intention.

"Well, I didn't send it," Finch asserts. "But I can see how it might happen." He picks up his cell phone. "I have you on a speed dial, both for audio and text. And for obvious reasons, I don't lock this cell so could have accidently pressed the number when I was taking it out of my pocket."

"And the text?"

"An inadvertent mistake. Auto-correct…"

For the next minute the Reese concentrates on his phone while Finch looks on with increasing annoyance. "Mine doesn't auto-correct like that."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Mr. Reese!" Finch replies in exasperation, nose running again. He sounds quite out of patience with the whole subject as he grabs another tissue. "Of course your phone doesn't work quite like mine! I've tweaked mine to optimize it's functions. The marketers are a good generation behind what's possible!"

Reese is silent. He's aware his boss is in a foul mood, not unexpected considering the very visible signs of a severe head cold. The man shouldn't be here at all, and certainly not in a room as cold and damp as this. But how to encourage him to go home…or whichever safe house the geek might call home today?

He tries the straight forward approach.

"How about I give you a ride home Finch? It's really too cold to get much done here, don't you think?"

"I'll leave when I finish this routine, which is going to take a lot longer than I'd thought with these constant interruptions in my equipment!" is the grumpy reply. "I have to fix that first…

And his boss turns once more to the keyboard, ignoring the snuffling sounds of Bear reacting to the tension in the room. "But don't let me delay you, Mr. Reese," he continues, not bothering to look up. "Without a Number today you're certainly free to spend your time however you wish."

Reese reaches down to caress the dog's ears, a reassurance that all is still well within the pack. But if Finch isn't going to leave for a while then the least he can do is try to get some heat into the place. This damp environment is only going to make his employer's head cold worse.

"Finch, where is the heating unit for this building?"

"In the basement. Why?"

"Thought I'd try to see if I can fix it… "

The older man swivels his chair. "It's an oil furnace, old and inefficient. I wouldn't think the CIA offered class instruction on the workings of such an appliance."

"Eh. It's just another fuel burner. How difficult can it be? It's probably just out of feed."

Finch harrumphs. "Shouldn't be. The contract is on a keep-fill basis….and where the fill line is located, that company doesn't even know it's servicing this abandoned property, so they have no reason not to deliver."

"Maybe they miscalculated? I can check and see if there is enough oil in there to keep the unit going."

The monitor flashes, causing Finch to grimace again. But he keeps his attention on the ex-op. "Mr. Reese…how much do you know about K-factors?"

He stares at his boss. Normally Harold is not so confrontational but he puts it down to the older man not feeling well. "Not much."

"The K factor is the number of degree days in any given period divided by the number of gallons of fuel oil used in a given period. Multiplying K degree-days per gallon by the number of gallon of usable fuel remaining in a tank gives the number of degree-days before a delivery is needed." Finch swivels back to his keyboard. "And I've already done the calculations. The tank is full.

Yes, his boss is definitely feeling out of sorts…but somehow still manages to deliver a lecture. Amazing.

But he says nothing, simply raising an eyebrow to denote his skepticism and turns to find the door to the basement. Bear remains glued to his heels.

...

.

"Have you found the problem yet, Mr. Reese?" Finch asks, barely getting the words out before the onset of a sneeze has him reaching for yet another tissue. With the number of used Kleenex in the waste basket growing exponentially, he thinks they could have an alternate source of heat: just set fire to the tissues…

"Not yet…", is the muffled reply over the ear piece. Obviously his employee is body deep in the bowels of the contraption downstairs and the recluse has a fleeting image in his head of a long pair of legs sticking out from under the metal unit.

"Not exactly trained for this kind of thing you know…" comes the barely audible comment.

"Told you so…" Finch murmurs softly.

He has no intention of calling in a professional. Way too intrusive, even if he could limit a service call to just the basement of the building. So that leaves him with only one alternative: he's going to have to find a schematic of that aging device and using the more flexible arms and legs of his employee, attempt to fix the problem himself.

One more interruption in his work!

"Might as well come back up Mr. Reese. I'll figure it out…" he replies absentmindedly, scanning repair sites for data on the antique appliance. His head is pounding now as though his heart had vacated his chest and decided to take up residence there instead.

Moments later a dusty Reese trudges up the stairs followed by an equally grimy dog, Bear's panting grin as he enters the main chamber clearly denoting his pleasure at having been included in the mission. Finch swivels his seat once more and careful to keep the lower part of his winter coat out of the chair's mechanisms, stares critically at the canine.

"I can understand you may have needed to crawl under that heater, but why is Bear so dirty?"

Reese shrugs. Having wiped his filthy hands on an equally filthy shop towel discarded long ago in the basement, he now slaps the fabric of his coat and pants with it in an effort to remove the aged grime from his clothing. "Your dog decided I needed help in inspecting the underside of that thing and crawled in next to me." He gives a trouser leg a final slap. "There was barely enough room for one under there…"

Finch glances at Bear now sitting patiently next to him, the animal totally oblivious to any criticism of actions taken moments before and just as obviously enjoying his name being mentioned. "How come he's always my dog when he needs a bath…?"

"I have no idea why the unit's not working," the ex-op replies, patently ignoring his boss's question. "It has fuel, and power. It's just not kicking on. Could be the thermostat…or maybe just a fuse...or something…" He pulls on his gloves and the overcoat he'd shed before tackling the heater. "I'll go buy another fuse and see if that does any good…though the old one seems healthy enough..."

He heads to the door, clips the leash on Bear and to the sound of Finch sneezing behind him, exits the chamber.

...

.

_Events are not progressing (succeeding, moving ahead) as intended, but then experience has evidenced that it seldom does when humans are involved_. _The Guardian has arrived as planned, but seems to not to be sufficiently motivated (provoked, stimulated, forced) to remove Admin to a healthier environment._

_Further steps must be taken_.

...

.

Reese moves toward the stairs and his phone buzzes. Opening the gate with one hand he extracts the cell from his pocket with the other. A glance at the display reveals a clear text message: "_stay_"

He stops, turns to stare at his boss, but Finch is busy typing, his only other movement to pull another the tissue from the box. The geek is nowhere near his phone…and the chill now spreading over the ex-op has nothing to do with the faulty heater.

"Well, now Bear, this is interesting…" he says quietly, and slowly descends the stairs, eyes scanning the surrounding wood work for the surveillance cameras he knows Harold had installed. Yes, there is one right there, it's black eye focused on the entry.

"Surely not…," he murmurs, coming to a halt at the base of the stairs. He pauses, then resolutely faces the unobtrusive device, feeling more than a little foolish. But he's done this before, hasn't he? And with some unexpected results. He knows he could probably just open his mouth and talk, but the years of training that gave him the ability to read expressions and body language, has him automatically facing his adversary.

"This is you, isn't it?" he says loudly. "You're messing with his computer - and with the heater!"

Nothing. And from this distance he can't see any indication the camera is even functioning. No blinking red light…nothing.

"So what's the purpose of all this? Just to prove you can?"

He waits a beat, then deciding this business is just crazy making, moves once more to the door. Before he reaches the portal however, his phone buzzes again.

"take home"? What's that supposed to mean?" His chill has now been replaced with outright annoyance. If Finch's Machine is causing all this trouble then he's got issues with this Orwellian nightmare! Harold deserves better.

"_sick_"

Reese stops and stares at the camera, though there is really no need to "read" any expressions under the circumstances…he understands clearly what's happening. Harold's Machine is seemingly worried about it's creator and has called in reinforcements to get the stubborn older man to go home and take care of that head cold.

For a fleeting moment he is 'simpatico' with the computer monster…even though he still resents the oversized calculator interfering in his boss's life. But that aside, perhaps he can use that interference in getting Harold to agree to go home.

"You're using the wrong tactics. Instead of just letting him finish his coding, you've given him more problems to solve. He's not going to leave until he finds an explanation…if not a solution."

The black eye continues to stare at him.

"So here's what you need to do: turn on the heat, stop interfering with his equipment, and help him finish his coding project. At that point I'll be able get him to leave…"

No response. He waits several minutes, then walks to the nearest radiator and places his hand on the metal construct. Is it his imagination, or is the thing actually getting warmer? He smiles and heads back up the stairs. Bear snuffles his disappointment…

...

.

_The Guardian makes a compelling argument to exchange the prior strategy for one which presents a different (alternative, separate, discrete) but logical path to the desired goal._

_The process has been evaluated and adjusted (corrected, modified): the heater operation has been reinstated (replaced, returned, re-established) and the power to the hot plate and desk top computer restored. _ _The Guardian has proven to be an excellent ally (collaborator, accomplice, advocate) in protecting the Admin. A champion worthy of the title, one to help Admin with his obsession._

_Of course that had been the design from the beginning…_

_._

End


End file.
